That time....

Christmas crept up, and then went all too quickly. In Liverpool? Well the day was quiet, and pretty much perfect...just the two of us. 

It was the first year ever that it passed without blood being drawn, without violence and without bitter arguments. Was I surprised? You can bet I was...

A few times I caught myself panicking, my heart rate creeping up and tears forming behind my eyes - but I turned and saw Will and the falling stopped. 

No tears, no arguments, no pain... well fuck me this must be what Christmas is 'supposed' to be like.

And now we're stuck in this odd time between Christmas and New Year... do you get back to 'normal', do you carry on relaxing? Do you think over the year passed, or the year to come? Do you think of things to give up, or things to take up?

Will it be a New Years Resolution, or a New Years Revolution?

Let's hope it'll be better than last year... but I don't want to build up ideas of perfection or grandure... I hope 2009 will work on what I achieved last year, and instead of taking steps backwards... will move forwards. 

Of course there'll be a few bumps along the road...

... wouldn't be life otherwise, would it ;)

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone... it may be uncertain, or you may not be ready. But it's here :)

Pills

I've a pill to make me happy
A pill to make me sad
A pill to make me wish
And a pill to make me dream
Plus a pill to just remind me
That I'll never be the same.
My pills make me sleep
Then perk me up,
They make me happy
Then tread me down.
You know what gets me most?
There's a pill
To make me human
To change my mind
When they said
All along
That
I could never be
Would never be
Enough.


Just a crappy little poem there as I was thinking over the issue of mental illness and therapy and so-called cures. I know that there is no cure for bipolar, or anything else. Why is this? Because, really, no-one knows what it is. A diagnosing doctor can't tell me how it feels, the nurse who frowns at my cuts can't say she's never thought about it, the HCA who mops up my blood can't scold me for bleeding...

We all bleed. Everyday. Not always blood or tears or sweat, but humankind. We bleed through injuries and hurts and cuts. We lose people and we fall in love, we sleep and we dream and we wake. We go through a million cycles everyday, just to be called alive... so what I do/did is just a visual for the world. It just says to people I am like you. It reminds them that everybody does hurt, everybody is hurting.

I am what all people feel, but refuse to look at.
I am called ugly for my scars.
I am called selfish for my illness.
I am called a freak for my feelings.
Well guess what?
We are all scarred.
1 in 4 people are mentally ill.
Everybody feels.

So this Christmas... hug a crazy person, we're just like you ;)

Love you

Christmas Season 2008

Gorgeous photo there of the the Guernsey Christmas lights... not mine of course!

I wanted to apologise for the lack of posts or comments, my laptop broke first and then it fixed itself, and then the Internet broke... Fortunately a few things came together, at last. So we still have no phone line to dial out on, but the Internet works - so that's all you blog lovers need to know ;)

So here's what happened today...

Will and I took our gifts round to his Nans house so that she can take them all up to Doncaster on Christmas Eve, then we decided it would be good to go to the big indoor market in Liverpool. We got about two miles outside town, and the car battery died. We called the RAC and they say since our membership runs out next month we'd need to buy another year before they came out. Yeah-fucking-right. 

So we called Highways Agency and they said for a couple hundred they'd gladly tow us to Preston and charge us for each day we leave it there.

Right.

So we called Aunty Gill... only her car wouldn't jump ours.

So we hailed a cab and took it back to Skelmersdale, and eventually got hold of Aunty Ang and she duly dispatched Uncle Rob in the people carrier to tow us home. At 30mph the automatic towed the manual with no brakes... we got home, and I started to breathe again.

But like Nan said - it woulnd't be Christmas without something going wrong.

And it made me think, it's often that crappy things happen this time of year... and we shrug a lot of it off, because of the festive season. We let people get away with it, we smile through near-bankrupcy, we block out old memories...

One Christmas I walked into town only to pick up my Dad from jail. I was 13.

One Christmas at my Dads house an argument erupted and things were thrown, blood was drawn and we were out on our ear walking into town in our jammies. I was 12.

One Christmas I attempted suicide, but every Christmas - at some point - I wish it worked.

None of this post is written in the 'correct' manner befitting the season. None of it is happy or optimistic. 

I'm sorry for this, but near the end of the year I start thinking back. I start feeling down. I ignore all the progress I have made, and I just think. 

Perhaps this season has a lot of soul-searching to answer for.

But perhaps it's just all about growth. Human growth. Maybe the more thinking we do, the more gifts we give, the more painful bridges we hold together... the more family contact we 'endure'... the more we grow.

Just in time for next year ;)

Wrong Way

Today on PostSecret (see my blogroll), a certain secret touched me...

"I've been using Manic Depression as an excuse to give up

I should be using it as a reason to try harder"

Have I been doing this? 

There are a lot of things I dismiss as being unreachable to be, beyond my mental capacity - too stressful and likely to cause an episode. But if there's anything I learnt writing my personal statement for the nursing degree it's that I have to work harder.

Rather than shying away from things, I need to gravitate towards them... things people wouldn't expect me to do, I want to do. 

Bipolar may be my decision maker... but it needn't be a restriction.

What an epiphany.

How often do we all do this though? Shrug off a suggestion or ignore an opportunity... only to beat ourselves up about it.

Perhaps the lesson here is not to let anything limit you.

Perhaps we should all try it on the edge for a while... it might just lift you higher than you've ever been.

Love

I am in love

With a boy

He loves me too

I am in love

With you

I need you

To love me too.

I need you

To see my eyes

To feel my scars

To touch my soul.

I am in love

With pain

With hurt

I am in love

With band-aids

And steri-strips.

I love to hate

A cure 

For bad

A healing

For cold,

I love to hate

That you just...

... don't understand.

Quick Turnaround

I know I only just blogged a few hours ago but I'm sitting in bed watching music television waiting for Will to come home from town. I can't go to sleep without him at least in the house.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the image I project to the world at large. Of course this time of year I am fully sleeved - so the scars aren't the problem. 

Today for example. I dressed in black jeans, black patent flats, a navy Edinburgh hoody, a green pashmina and of course a sling. (Why are they such yucky yellow/brown colours?)

On my face I wore a smile for the most part, but no make up - I wore my hair loose, long and curly and brown with a side parting and a lot over my eyes, just as Will likes.

Today I took a bath first thing and combed my hair in the lounge (a recent trip to IKEA meant that we have gone from no mirrors in the house, to two of the things). My skin was pretty clear, my eyes really dark and my hair much longer than I remembered. 

I feel like I have emerged, that I've been wrapped in a bin bag for a few weeks. Nothing has changed - same clothes which really need replacements, same hair colour, same scarves... but today? I wore it all with confidence - and for the first time felt that it doesn't matter ultimately what you wear, so long as you do it with a little confidence.

This is the most recent photo of me I like... one whole year ago. 

Next step on my road to health? Take a new photo...

Angel of the North

This picture was taken standing just next to the structure named above... the best kind of sunset. Not perfect, not the trademark colours, not the perfect clouds... but the light, well that could warm anyone up surely?

The last few weeks of late have been less than festive, the house looks beautiful and Will had a fabulous birthday - but as ever my heart wasn't in it. I always strive so much to be perfect, so much in fact that I don't take any notice of whether the people around me actually think there's a need for me to do better. I do ok.

I tore my trapezius muscle the other day - not badly, (in the shoulder) and since have been wandering around in a dumb sling which I try to ignore and go without but I just can't be stubborn this time - it hurts too much not to wear it! Since this injury it seems that my mental state has been a lot better.

I can't help wondering though... is this the best I will let myself get? Will it be a case of me not acheiving anything more than this? Is it best to admit defeat now?

Such depressing talk... my apologies.

4 Years...

... since I raised that fateful blade!

No idea how I've made it this far

Connie

Yesterday I received a Christmas card. Not a card from a family member I never met, or a friend I lost touch with... but a woman I have not seen since I spent the night at her B&B in May.

I went to her freezing cold and alone, fresh out of a police cell in the South of England. She welcomed me into her home and gave me her ear to listen, not asking what I had done, what the scars on my arms were or what on earth I planned to do with myself. She made me okay.

I want to say thank you to her.

All because of Pop Tarts

Yes, as I stood there over the toaster making our morning treat for this week... Pop Tarts, I started to think.

To be honest it wasn't the morning, because I am getting up later and later these days... people comment on my weight loss - well the secret is sleep - if you don't get up till tea time, then you don't eat until tea time.

I feel guiltier by the day, I know it is the meds but everything seems so dull. I am a lot more aware of myself than I used to be - on the train home this evening I couldn't even eat for fear of other passengers watching me. I don't really phone my Mum unless I have to, because I can feel in every word she says the utter disappointment, the confusion - the wondering how her daughter could have messed up so much.

She doesn't know the half of it, that's what gets me.

If she's judging me by what she knows then what about the rest? She has no idea I've been on benefits... that I live off Will instead of a job... that I turned that 'nice boy' against me all by myself. Her tone cuts me right down into my soul - because if she thinks that what she knows is bad, then what on earth would she think of the rest?

I find myself less and less concerned for the people I have left behind, after all it was being in that environment that put me in hospital after hospital... wasn't it? I don't even know anymore... perhaps the bipolar wasn't from past trauma, perhaps it wasn't from extreme stress...

Maybe it is all I am, and all I have ever been.

And then the toaster goes and all of a sudden all my thoughts are channeled into how on earth I'm going to get it out...

You haven't lived...until you've cried

Then my darlings, I can safely say that I have lived. So have all of you. 

All together we are living and we are alive...we cry and we feel.

Tonight I am crying...but it's okay right? Because I am living.

This is what they call living.

Right.

Well...

...I did it again. No matter how many how jokes I make about being reformed and a good patient and taking my meds. Sometimes I just can't make ends meet; sometimes the thoughts and feelings in my head overwhelm me so much the only thing I can do is to hurt myself. To pick up any object which could possibly cause harm (trust me my brain can find fault in a pair of tweezers), and use it in such a manner which would turn a lot of stomachs I'm sure.

And the result is one or two or maybe more abrasions on my otherwise milky-skinned arms. Angry, red marks which sting when I look and stab when I have to tell Will, marks which I pick at and peel away the fibrin, trying to make me better. Marks which aren't alone, but have at least 100 companions.

So all I can do is to admit it was wrong, patch it up and try to avoid my gaze for a week or two. All I can do is to say 'sorry', to anyone who has the misfortune to see.

My mind a quagmire
of dark and deep,
A pit without bottom
a tunnel without light.
Sharp and think
come taunts of death,
Fear and loathing
quash help and faith.
The end has no beginning,
and the beginning no end.
A piece of string
from a reel of harm.
Pain delves deep
into a failing soul.
A wingless angel
cries in a noiseless voice.

- Nikita Le Sauvage, 2007

100 things about Nikita...

1. I was born on the 15th June 1989, in Guernsey - CI
2. I was three weeks late
3. Subsequently I was pretty round
4. Subsequently my parents nicknamed me dumpling
5. I have two sisters
6. One is 15 years old and nicknamed bubble
7. One is 9 years old next week
8. I have a cat, called Mittens
9. And a dog, called Baby
10. I have lived in five different towns
11. My favourite was Doncaster
12. I have been engaged since July 8th last year
13. I live with my fiance
14. I love to sail
15. I can play three instuments
16. Including my voice
17. I am grade 7 at all of them
18. The other two are keyboard and clarinet
19. My mother is tone-deaf
20. My first poem was published in 1999
21. My second in 2000
22. My third in 2001
23. I won a poetry scholarship in 2006
24. I didn't take it
25. My first regret
26. I was personnel director in my Young Enterprise Group
27. We won the south-east competition
28. I was school captain
29. I was the first school captain
30. I was a prefect
31. I've only ever won one trophy
32. It was for services to the school
33. I passed my 11+
34. I was accepted to girls college
35. I chose mixed grammar school
36. I took 10 GCSES
37. My grades slipped by the time I got 3 A Levels
38. Six universities accepted me
39. Hull was where I ended up
40. Nine months later I quit
41. I've written over 200 poems
42. None of which I like
43. 10th December 2004 was the first time I hurt myself
44. It's been four years
45. 8th January was the first time I attempted suicide
46. I sometimes wish it worked
47. I am bipolar
48. I have borderline personality disorder
49. I've tried too many meds to count
50. Anti-psychotics are where I've settled
51. I'm a book addict
52. I've a list of every book I ever read
53. I own most of them
54. My favourite shop is Fat Face
55. I can only afford Primark
56. I've broken two toes and two fingers and numerous ribs
57. I always hated sports day
58. Because I never won
59. Save for the wheelbarrow race, once
60. I hate my boobs
61. I'm not body-confident, at all
62. I don't think I deserve compliments
63. I have only ever had one car
64. But I learnt to drive at 9
65. In a tractor
66. I worked 4 years in a garage
67. None of which I was old enough to drive
68. But I did
69. I passed my theory test with 100%
70. I scraped the practical first time also
71. I love ice cream
72. But have a mortal fear of mushrooms
73. And aubergine
74. And peas
75. I cannot cook
76. I've given up trying
77. I write a poem a day
78. I've written my journal everyday since June
79. My longest run yet
80. I love my iPod Touch
81. I have over 150 DVDs
82. Some are Will's
83. The CDs are mainly mine though
84. I prefer CDs to downloading
85. I am afraid of the dark
86. And things which crawl
87. But not babies
88. I would love a family
89. But worry I'd do it wrong
90. I wake up each morning to check Will is still with me
91. So far he's never not been there
92. This list was easier than I imagined
93. Though mainly drivel I expect *EDIT* This isn't technically about me... so in here I'll stick that I can speak 4 languages competently. Only 2 fluent.
94. You've probably not learnt anything
95. But I have
96. I prefer showers
97. But will bath in darkness only
98. There are no mirrors in my house
99. I can't look in changing room mirrors
100. But I love the reflection in Wills eyes

Blog Control

Well hello everyone. I found myself with many things to say over the past week, but somehow stopped myself - as though I was afraid of being judged. Which is odd as I don't ever recall being judged badly in the history of this blog. It's also annoying as now I don't think I've anything to say. 

I love this time of year so much... the cold bites and the wind stings but I somehow manage to feel quite secure. Cosy even. This is a drastic change to how I've previously felt... things always seemed to go wrong and everything felt bleak. I think the change has just coincided with me trying to teach myself that I can't live for everyone else... it just isn't possible. 

One thing I will miss is Guernsey... and my friends. It's been so long since I've seen them and I do often feel like I have none left. But again this time of year reminds me that I do have so many people close to me... even if their closeness is not physical.

I know what I meant to write... a '100 things about Niki' list, sort of like Carmi did. But now I'm just not sure there are that many things to say about me.

It's been a while...

...since I rose at 7:30am.
It's beautiful isn't it? Even now the winter is approaching and it's not as light as it might be in spring. Still the crispness of it all is beautiful, and standing at the back door watching my breath dance around daintily like the smoke of a candle extinguished.
I stood for quite a while, watching the yellow new sky turn to a fresh blue above the flats. I glanced around at the lights being pulled on and imagined all the showers and baths being turned on as waited for my own lukewarm dip (that woke me up no end).

After my bath I IM'd a few people who did not share my sentiment...their replies all centered around student grumbles and groans which I took to be the alcohol probably lurking in their system. But no worry, I was like them for a little while - without the liquor - and they'll see it one day, even if just for a moment.

You want to know my most beautiful morning? It was an autumn morning in Glasgow...I woke up on the floor of a student flat surrounded by a group of friends. I looked out of the window in the kitchen and the Glaswegian orange night lamps had been replaced by a sunrise with every colour I could ever imagine. I don't think I'll ever forget it.

My recommendation of one thing to do before the end? Camp in the open, just in a sleeping bag and survival sack. You'll get soaked and probably not sleep at all but maybe you'll be lucky and spend the evening under a show of shooting stars, and wake up to a clear sky - the beauty of which drowns out the M27 bypassing the New Forest, and even diverts attention from the deer trying desperately to get into the bins next to the cabin...

And now back down to earth...wake up Will the sleeping beauty and get down to the garage to try to pry away my car from their oily clutches.

I know

There is a smile. It's on everybodys face at some stage in their lives. It's the smile which knows pain.
You might think that only a few unfortunate people can have this smile.
That would be a mistake.
This smile will strike everyone, and ignore no-one.
It's shown to another who seems to be doing fine.
They might be fine just now, but one day the smile will pass across their lips.
It hurts.

I decided to return to an old blog format, one that consists of many different elements - basically I can't think of one big idea, so I'm throwing a few in at once. Plus my journal ran out of pages but the car's in the shop so haven't gotten around to getting a new one...

To be honest a few things have happened in the past week...Will and I are floating the idea of moving back to Guernsey. They do a few places for nurse training reguated by the UEA and if I could get one then we could move back. Naturally it's not that simple and the idea comes with the necessity of finding the money to rent on the 'rich persons haven'.

Lately I have been yearning more and more for the simple life, like I had back at school. Sure there were a lot of mental health problems, that's another point 'for' Guernsey - the healthcare is brilliant, but I still drove my little car to school and around to the beach whenever I wanted. I taught sailing and could go whenever I wanted.
Now of course there is rent and gas and electricity to find, my health rests not with the CAMHS but with the CMHT - nothing is easy anymore.
Will has a boat but it's way down in Dartmouth and we can neither up sticks whenever we want or leave it floating sadly in the harbour down there.

I guess the main deal-breaker is just a tiredness, felt by everyone who has a responsibility - maybe to a partner, or to children, or even to a job. I'm tired of being a grown up. I want to shake my head and stamp my feet. I want to protest that my chidhood was cut short. I want to scream from the rooftops that I am only 19 years old.

19 years. That's all I've had - even Will has had 22 - did I miss the classes on paying rent? Organising Dentist appointments? Paying for petrol? My sister is 15 years old, the same age as me when I first attempted suicide. That's scary, that petrifies me everyday. Since I was 15 I've done a lot...I've been to A&E in about 10 hospitals, I've gotten into Uni - and left, I've gotten pregnant - and miscarried. Why did it all have to happen so soon? Why are my arms littered with scars? Why do I take anti-psychotics every morning, not birth control? Why-oh-why are my liver function tests so bad you'd think I was a 50 year old alcoholic?
And then there are the people...why did I disappoint my Mum? Why did I hurt Dad? Why have I abandoned my baby sisters?

I know an episode is coming, I will regret writing this diatribe. But I also know that I don't understand, anything.

PS I will seek medical help in the morning.

How Mad Are You?

Just a quick drop-in today. I watched a programme yesterday (see the link at the bottom of the page), which made me think. I like that - I like that an essentially useless thing, can be useful.

The programme is essentially an experiment, with 5 'normal' participants and 5 'mentally ill' participants.

It challenges 3 mental health professionals - and the contestants themselves - to decide who among them has suffered or does suffer from a mental illness, and who is just plain 'normal'.

Already the professionals have spotted one man with OCD, but they wrongly assumed one woman had no mental health issues.

It makes me wonder - if you saw me in a crowd, would you know that I'm 'crazy'?



http://www.bbc.co.uk/headroom/newsandevents/programmes/horizon_hmay.shtml

Ma Vie

My life may not be straightforward, and it may not be conventional
It may not please everybody, but perhaps it touches some
My life is getting used to being lived for me first
And others later.
Everyday it makes me feel guilty for claiming it back,
It tells me I need to do more.
But really, whatever I can do should be good enough.
Each day that I live in the outside world,
And not desperately in a hospital
Each day that I wake up and swallow it down
Is a triumph.
I wonder if I mean enough
Or give enough
Or help enough.
Perhaps my existence makes no mark,
Perhaps I change nothing,
Maybe - just maybe...

...I am okay.

For now

Sunday Night

I've never been one to give up on someone. No matter how much they may appear to hate me, or think what I do is wrong, I have always maintained that eventually I would win them over.
Unfortunately I have made my first exception.
My eldest sister, J, aged 15.
We haven't spoken in nearly a year, she never forgave me for leaving Guernsey with Will, she was hurt when she found out about my Dad.
Apology after apology I've given her, even gifts in my desperation.
But now I have decided to let it rest. I remember being 15 - I took no prisoners, I wouldn't take apologies from anyone.
I just didn't want to do it without writing about her. She's beautiful - taller than me already, perfect hair and teeth...a better physique and wearing make up when I've only just started. She's clever too, wants to be a lawyer and she's well on her way - you won't find her getting engaged at 18 or quitting Uni.
So here's to her, and one day being friends again

What it's like to be bipolar

There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness, and terror involved in this kind of madness. When you're high it's tremendous. The ideas and feelings are fast and frequent like shooting stars, and you follow them until you find better and brighter ones.

Shyness goes, the right words and gestures are suddenly there, the power to captivate others a felt certainty. There are interests found in uninteresting people.
Sensuality is pervasive and the desire to seduce and be seduced irresistible. Feelings of ease, intensity, power, well-being, financial omnipotence, and euphoria pervade one's marrow. But, somewhere this changes. The fast ideas are too fast, and there are far too many, overwhelming confusion replaces clarity. Memory goes. Humor and absorption on friend's faces are replaced by fear and concern.

Everything previously moving with the grain is now against....

you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and emerged totally in the blackest caves of the mind.

You never knew those caves were there. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality.

- Kay Redfield Jamison, MD


I don't like standing near the edge of a platform when an express train is passing through. I like to stand right back and if possible get a pillar between me and the train. I don't like to stand by the side of a ship and look down into the water. A second's action would end everything. A few drops of desperation.

- Winston Churchill (1874-1965)

Angels

Don't worry...no Robbie Williams in sight.

I was thinking last night, as Will and I talked about my latest episode, about the people who were always there for me before my betrothed.
They never knew, never saw the scars or the pills. But still they were there...and of course they did know, because I'm crap at hiding things.

Now there are three photos above my bed..a white camellia in the middle, Will and I at prom on the left, and on the right there are my girls. Four girls in beautiful dresses hanging above my bed. I like to think that they are watching over me, that as I lay in bed sleeping or watching a movie or just hiding from the rest of the world, they are there to help me still.

We don't talk that often, as life has thrown us all over the UK. We have new friends, in new homes with new lives. But when I look up through the tears of bipolar, or just of life, we are all there together - happy and full of hope for our lives outside of Guernsey.

Over the two years some of us have gotten engaged, one of us had a baby and three of us continue to battle with mental illness.

Here's to all of us meeting up again one day, getting dressed in our best and going out with hope in our eyes...so there'll be a few extra boys, a gorgeous baby girl and hours of therapy sessions...still they'll be there to hold my hand, my purse and (hopefully not) my hair.

La vie sans lumière

That's how I feel like I'm living right now - not in darkness, just without light. You know that time of the evening just after dusk where the cities still glow in the distance and the street lamps are still orange but you need a light with which to read.

I'm in one of those towns, watching a city breathe. In the morning the motorway hums in the distance above the waking of the birds, at lunchtime the roads are jammed with commuters trying to make the most of a 40min lunch. And in the evening, the motorway starts to slur and as the sky turns to marl the lights flare up, a twinkling array of orange and yellow which seem to make you squint with the achingness of it all.

It's like a life lived from a distance, always cautious and curteous - avoiding confrontation or anger. Occaisionally depression sets in but you don't complain because what good would it do? Time after time terrible things seem to happen to you but because of your thoughts you don't wallow in it, you move on and accept that you can't have deserved the goodness anyway.

And the lights, when you see the lights you long to be there with all the 'other' people who get promotions and friends...you ache to be right there in their false embrace, surrounded by their wealth and seeming longevity.

But then your light comes on...throws attention to the half-finished decorating, the floor you mean to replace. The pets who aren't well trained, the food which is from a discount range. These things are real and they might not be illuminated, they might sometimes be lonely but they are never false. The sound of your little flat may be drowned by upstairs and next door, the light from it may not even reach your garden...but it's heard, by the people who are worth having...by the people who walk away, sometimes, from the city - to be a part of the world.

What I mean is that life may be a little dark in comparison, but light it shines goes much farther than the horizon.

Frost Run

The title has no connection to the post, I'm just sitting here alone pretty cold and it feels like no matter how much I put on or how many blankets I find I'm still running from the cold, and it never lets me get too far ahead.

For a few days I stopped taking my medication, becasue I thought I had got better - I was making jokes and smiling all the time.

It turns out that was because of the medication.

Will made me see sense and I have started it up again, which means enduring all of the crap that comes with a new psychiatric medication - sleepiness and grumpiness and general bitchiness.
I self harmed last night also, which was disappointing. More than disappointing.

I think disheartened, is the word of the day.

Every Morning

(This isn't two posts in a day - the last one was before I went to bed last night)

Every morning I wake up and regret.

I told myself that no matter what happened or what I did that I would never have any regrets...well I do.
I regret not getting through Uni, at least not the first year.

It may seem small and you may tell me I can try again, and you'd be right - but it's not the same. On my first attempt I failed, things got tough and I ran.

I look around Facebook and see all these beautiful friends of mine happy and thriving at Uni - whereas what do I do?
Nothing. I sit and wait to get better, pretending that I'm in recovery so that people won't ask why I don't work.

I let my mother down.

Rain on the Pretty Ones...

No words of mine today darlings...just the lyrics of Ed Harcourt. (No idea where they came from - just found them on an old memory stick.)

I'm the hunter who's killed by his dog
I'm the statue burnt down into lead
I'm the problem you don't want to solve
I'm the lover who dies in his bed

So rain on the pretty ones
Your useless lives don't speak to us
Rain on the pretty ones
You leave no footprints in the dust
Adventurous you used to be
But now you seem so dead to me

I'm the doctor with a needle in his arm
I'm the cartoon that makes you feel sad
I'm the secret that everyone has
I'm the cancer that never turns black

So rain on the pretty ones
Your useless lives don't speak to us
Rain on the pretty ones
You leave no footprints in the dust
Adventurous you used to be
But now you seem so dead to me

I'm the actor who's scared to perform
I'm the sunshine that hides in the clouds
I'm the father that couldn't be found
I'm the cuckoo that never flew south
I'm the Christian that cannot forgive
I'm the dreamer who jumps off the bridge
I'm the sinner who hates how he lives
I'm the liar who gets what he gives

A Moment

This evening is strange for me. I feel contented, and I feel safe.
But I feel so alone.
I feel dark and suffocated.
I feel like I can't make anything okay.
I chatted to a good friend last night and told her everything was okay.
But I lied.
I am struggling, still.

Drawing In

The clocks go back on Sunday here in the UK and that means that it's going to get darker, colder and all the more winterier over the coming weeks.

Personally I love this, I love the dark evenings under a blanket, I love the jeans and tops I start to live in, I love the wellies I'll need to take the dog for a walk.

I'm not at my most literate today though I have been writing a poem a day in the back of my journal for some time now, and it feels good. The meds are at a steady level, I can rise before lunch and the wedding plans are well underway.

Love you

Reinvention

You'll notice (I hope) the colour and font changes to the blog. I thought that it was time for another fresh start. Not that I am unhappy with it or anything like that, a little change just felt right. And the colour of my bedroom wall is a perfect colour to match with.

I worry that my choice of colour for my blog reflects badly on my personality, and that the hot pink of blogs gone by will put people off, and make them feel that there is nothing of substance to be found. Which I hope there is.

You might also notice that my grammar is all over the place today - I apologise for this and rather shamefully blame it on my latest medication. Whilst the stuff infiltrates my system I'm running on half empty, and awake only about 5 hours in every 24. All in the name of mental wellbeing.

I appreciate that drugs are not always the answer, but on the otherhand I recognise that I do have a condition and if I am to use medication to reach some sort of level-footing then right now I am not in the position to say no.

Perhaps if this medication takes then I can actually put some thought into this blog, and say some of those things of substance!

Much love xxx

Back

Hey there everyone

So the new puppy is settling in, she is called Baby and thankfully is now getting to know Mittens the kitten.

Today I got my brand new meds - Seroquel. I figure now I'm on anti-psychotics I've joined the ranks of the truly crazy!

Watch this space for updates on the crazy house.

Wedding

Now I don't want to say lots and lots tonight, I don't want to upset Will (if he reads) and I haven't even allowed comments on this post - it's just venting that inevitably follows a few rough days.

A few days ago we ordered my wedding dress, but I don't know what size to get or even how to pay for it.

Every time I mention ordering invites my beau changes the subject - it's only four months until the wedding.

I keep asking if we can put the final deposit on the reception, but he says it's booked for now and we'll pay soon.

My point is I feel out of the loop. I don't know what's happening. I don't know about Will's finances. I'm a control freak.

I just needed to put this out somewhere. A new post, with comments enabled, will be here soon.

Crappy crappy crap crap

It happened again. Last night we had a fight and I hurt myself.

So it doesn't happen as often anymore. So I don't buy double-edge blades anymore.

It still has me, right in its silver, sharp grip.

And?

I knew it was too good to be true. Selfridges was a farce. No-one knew I was coming. I was herded from one place to another for two hours. Everyone there was fatter than me. It was humiliating. Course it wasn't going to work.

I am not going back there. Ever.

Just forget it, you know? It's way too hard. Cannot wait for these bloods to come back then the pills start, and me as I am today will hopefully disappear.

Diagnosis

So it finally happened. Four years of pills and doctors and hospitals and pain...all brought together by two different psychiatric disorders, finally with a name.

Cyclothymia (rapid cycling bipolar disorder - annoyingly called 'bipolar lite')
Borderline Personality Disorder

Next comes the treatment. Which is good, right? I get the right treatment, and the rest of my life can start - hopefully with only a few pills each morning, and an outpatient appointment here and there.

On Thursday I have to have blood tests done, to check I'm okay for the new pills. I just hope they don't affect fertility, as I do so want a baby - and no-one has told me what they actually are going to be.

I'm all for it.

Also on Thursday I have an interview at Selfridges, an interview I want so much. For a job I always fantasised about.

Fingers crossed for a bit of good wind.

eBay

Now, we all know what it is but my goodness I had never experienced anything like it before. I have been popping along to buy my trademark kitsch earrings for some time now...but selling? It never even occured to me.

It all started when Will decided to sell one of his treasured Rolex watches (for purposes unknown to me he has 4, and 2 are exactly the same...)
After that I decided to sell a few bits of clothes...then an ornament...then an old PS2...then some bags.

Is it at all possible that selling is more addictive than buying on eBay? I'd like that...it makes me money, rather then taking it from me.

(Is it just me or do eBay transactions not feel like real money? Like it's a giant game where you hand over simoleons or something (SIMS money) and then get giant pink flamingoes for the garden...)

Anyway, just a lightheardted post for a change.

XXX

PS I wonder how many times I have said 'anyway' on this blog over the years...

How about that?

Here's a coincidence for you.

I am from Guernsey.
My next door neighbour is called Mike. His son/nephew (can't remember), lives in Guernsey, with his wife from Sark....

Isn't that mad?

Well to me it was entertaining

Update

Each day that I neglect to write this blog is another day that I lose touch with most of you whom I only know through this medium. This saddens me. But all the more recently I find myself with little of interest to write. I know that the context of a blog is writings from an average person on their average life, but my perception has always been off. Where some people would write of my recent weekend in Manchester, I don't. When some people would write of my on-going mental health struggles, I don't. When some people would even write of my police investigation experiences with my Dad, I just don't.

I could tell you how frequent my self-harm has become. I could tell you of my charity work. I could tell you of my University rejections. I could tell you of my longing for the sea. I could tell you of my weight loss.

But I don't, do I.
xxx

Check out www.twloha.com . For some reason the story on there has been getting me through.

"To Write Love on Her Arms is a work in progress. This began with one broken girl, one painful night; addiction, depression, cutting. This is a glimpse at the five days that followed, a decision to love and to begin telling her true story. To Write Love on Her Arms is becoming something bigger, something hopeful. It's the realization of what life can be when we commit to meeting a need. A friend of mine told me there's no such thing as suicide prevention. This is an attempt to prove him wrong, to say that love can change a life. We can hold back the darkness. Rescue is possible. "Believe your voice can mean something.""



"The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds.
We miss them in the storms.
Tell them to remember hope.
We have hope." - Renee, twloha


Much Love

Nineteen

Yet another birthday passed on Sunday. A whole four years almost of this blog, in its various forms...
The only way I can rationalise it is if I've got through nineteen years already...then the rest has to be easier...right?

Love to you all

Growing up but falling down

No more apologies today guys, yes it has been a while since I wrote to you all - but I don't feel I could have helped that. I just hope that you have all been well and that you will all come back to me one day!

I am hoping to settle near Liverpool, where I am right now.

Maybe it is time to succumb to lithium.

Who knows.

Miss you

Another Absence

Many more apologies

Life has dealt me another blow. I discovered I was pregnant but then I suffered a miscarriage.

I have left University in favour of living off Will and trying to decide where to live - right now we're in Weymouth for the Kite festival.

I urge you to e-mail me on my new address which can be found on Facebook and we can catch up - not up for public sharing just now.

Hope you're all well

Missed me?

Hello all you people

Apologies for the absence - life has been interfering damnit.

New pills, new lease on life. Working the 12 steps for self-harmers. Charity plans. You know the drill - I come to you all excited and a few weeks later I'm drunk on your cyber doorstep.

Horrible feeling Will's bought a new car or something ostentatious. I'll pretend not to be interested of course, then steal it at night and go on therapeutic jaunts to ASDA and other retail suckers.

See you soon

cipralex and money my life

Wish upon a star

You know that moment when you wake up from childhood? You know the one, when you realise you're not going to live in a castle, or be an astronaut, or have a crown - or whatever your particular dream was?
I had that moment the other day. The worst moment in a long time. I realised I wasn't going to live in a castle and spend all day chasing my children around until my husband rushes in the door and sweeps us all up.
I still have dreams of course - to pay rent and bills, to have children, to marry Will, to get a nicer car... They're still dreams, but they're attainable. They're justifyable.
I'm not saying kiss goodbye to all your dreams now, I'm just saying beware. If you haven't had 'that' day yet, run from it for as long as you can.